Love Story
by Magical words from Muggle pens
Summary: Angelina learns to say goodbye. George/Angelina ... A multi-pair collection.
1. Death Eater: Lucius & Narcissa

_Summary: A collection of one-shots about various moments in the lives of Harry Potter couples._

**Death Eater**

_Lucius & Narcissa_

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She had always known he admired class, whether it was in the wine he sipped or the society in which he mingled. She knew it very well by the extent to which fine silks aroused him, most especially when they slipped off her porcelain skin at night.

Though she had been raised to believe in class, in purity, in blood ... she couldn't help but wish that she was more like her unmentionable blood-traitor sister in that very moment.

Lucius shrugged his powerful shoulders out of the dark robes, muttering on about something, but he was drowned out by the roaring in her head. All she could see was that hideous dark serpent coiling on his forearm, taunting her, filling her head with two wretched words -

_Death Eater._

"-That was the end of the initiation. Master was very pleased with my Ministry connections," she broke out of her haze far enough to detect the smugness in his voice, "and seemed to favor me more considering my relation to Bella, who has quite a talent for curses I must say. You Black sisters are very - Cissa? Are you listening to me?"

Narcissa blinked, finding Lucius towering over her pale frame. His long fingers tenderly tucked her luminous hair behind her ear, all the while sporting an annoyed look at being ignored.

"Master?" she choked out.

Sensing, perhaps, that she was on the verge of tears, Lucius carefully peeled back the bed covers and shifted in next to her. "Aren't you happy? I hadn't wanted to tell you until I was guaranteed acceptance, but I thought this honor would have pleased you."

"Honor! You could be killed," she cried, her blue eyes flooding instantly.

"Nonsense," he waved his hand insolently. "Hasn't Bella handled herself perfectly these past months?"

"That's because she's _mad!_ She's always had a knack for getting into trouble, and it-it's just not the same!"

"Why not?" he asked angrily. "As a man, as a Malfoy, do I not get to contribute to our cause as she does?" Narcissa remained silent, staring stonily at his flexing arm. "I don't understand. Your parents were thrilled for her, so were you. So why can't you be proud of me?"

"Because you're my husband," she whispered tearily, "and I don't want you to die." Sobbing heartwrenchingly, she flung herself out of bed and fled to the bathroom.

Sliding down the wall onto the cold hard floor, Narcissa wept, ignoring Lucius's knocking and his plaintive calls to remove the wards on the door.

It wasn't her fault, she thought fiercely, that she was so incredibly emotional. Just a week ago she had suffered a miscarriage, and though pretending to have moved on, she still hadn't truly mourned for the child she so yearned for.

She knew, rationally, that this was a cause for celebration. All the esteemed pureblooded men were highly-ranked Death Eaters, and now, so was her husband.

But he wasn't just a faceless warrior for purity; he wasn't just another casualty in the battle against traitors. He was her _family_. With her parents deceased, one sister lost to oblivion, and another obsessed with the Dark Lord, he was the only one left who truly loved her.

If their child had come into fruition, she would have a bigger family - someone else to love, someone she could hide away from all the dangers in the world.

But now, she might never know.

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"How could you be so foolish, sleeping on _tiles_ after last week's incident?" Lucius's agitated drawl perforated her sleep. Narcissa eased up, realizing that he had broken through her wards and carried her to their bed.

"I-_ngh_," she croaked, her throat dry from crying.

"DOBBY!" he yelled.

The quivering creature appeared on the spot. "Water," Lucius commanded. It nodded then returned with a glass. Dismissing it casually, Lucius urged his wife to drink, all the while glaring at her.

"I'm sorry. I don't know what came over me." Narcissa raised her chin, regally, her manners in place now that she was calmer.

Lucius's lips twitched and he ran a hand through his smooth locks tiredly.

She felt guilty at the motion. Instead of inquiring after what must have been a gruelling initiation, or even commending him for succeeding, she had completely broken down and yelled at him.

Absently stroking her flat stomach, he said, "Madam Malkins has brought in a new collection from Paris."

"Hmm," she murmured, resting her head on his shoulder.

They spent the morning leisurely; she discussed the latest gossip, and he gave a general overview of his initiation and training. Narcissa smiled and nodded, quelling the rising nausea for fear of vexing him.

So she distracted herself by placing soft kisses on his shoulder, squeezing his strong bicep, before peppering his neck with more kisses. When her delicate hand trailed downward, Lucius clapped his hand over hers and growled in warning.

Before she could apologize, he twisted them around so she was lying underneath, urging her to wrap her legs about his hips.

Just as he nipped at her throat and she arched wantonly in response, he froze.

Narcissa stared at him as he leapt off her and began pacing around the room, searching for something. Her throat closed up when caught sight of the Mark; it was black, blacker than she had ever seen it.

The sight of it made her want to rip it out of his skin, to restore it back to the unblemished state.

"Cissa, have you seen my wand; I -"

With her back turned, tears rained freely on her cheek, and she did not bother answering him. She would do anything in her power to hinder his leave.

"Cissa-"

"Bathroom," she coughed.

"Listen-"

"JUST _GO_!"

The air was rent silent at the piercing sound of her voice, the walls themselves shocked at her abrasive tone.

"I thought you were fine with this," Lucius said tersely.

"Oh yes, I'm fine with my husband leaving me regularly to go on suicide missions. I'm just bloody fine with becoming a childless widow at the age of twenty-one!" She no longer cared about decorum or pride, she only wanted one thing.

"Cissa," Lucius murmured, hugging her to his stomach. "Nothing is going to happen to me, all right? I wouldn't endanger myself or the future of our family for nothing. If we succeed, we can live in a better world. Our children will live in a more perfect world."

Her hair shimmered blindingly as she shook her head petulantly. "I love you, Lucius. Don't leave me."

"_Merlin_," Lucius swore roughly, swallowing the unexpected flood of emotion.

A thousand rules and traditions had been broken tonight as his noble wife abandoned her poise and begged openly. The Mark was burning insistently on his arm, but he ignored it, and the inevitable wrath of the Dark Lord, in favor of consoling his wife.

"I will never leave you. Never, understand? Not unless I know without a doubt that I will return," he said firmly. "Do you have faith in me?"

"I-" she trembled.

"Do you have faith in me?" he repeated.

Barely meeting his gaze, she whispered, "Yes."

"I need you to be certain, Narcissa. I cannot go until I know you will support me in this, and that you can be the true lady of this manor."

With an unswerving fervor, she said, "Yes. I can."

"I _love_ you," he said simply. Brushing a kiss on her cheek, he fetched his wand. She watched him stride away to the apparition point, her heart breaking with every step.

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Holding a newborn Draco in her arms, Narcissa listened patiently as Lucius relayed news of Voldemort's defeat. His face was somber at the massive blow, but there was a strange peace inside her now.

Her sister had been captured, and the entire upper-society was in chaos. But her husband would be easily acquitted with a few charming words and spare change.

He would easily find another preoccupation to satisfy himself, as long as he was given prestige and power.

And now he would never, ever leave her again. Murmuring her regrets, Narcissa stroked Lucius's forehead, and smiled secretively to her jubilant baby boy.

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_A/N: This is going to be an open-ended collection - just a place to dump all the random scenarios floating in my head. Enjoy, and don't forget to review!_


	2. Goodbye: George & Angelina

**Goodbye**

_George & Angelina_

The wind was howling wildly tonight, thrashing and pushing against the small flat over the shop. She wondered if he was trying to drown himself in the storm outside. Maybe she could too; just tangle up in these sheets and fade away in the cotton folds.

Lightning illuminated the room, throwing her dark curves into sharp relief.

Muscles she hadn't used in so long were deliciously sore, but her mind was far from satiation. His musky scent still permeated the pillows, and she realized he smelled just like Fred.

What was she doing?

Softly tracing the bites on her neck and thighs, she wondered if they were using each other. Before today, before these past few heady months, they had known each other only through Fred. She had always thought of him as Fred's twin, not George. And he had jokingly called her 'Fred's girl,' not Angelina.

But that had all been shattered tonight.

George ... George ... George

She had uttered his name so many times it seemed she was reminding herself who it was she was kissing, whose arms were caging her into the bed. Or maybe it was because of something else, something she couldn't yet define.

Groaning, she tugged the sheets around herself and padded down to the window overlooking the silent Hogsmeade street. There, in the dark torrent of raindrops, was a smattering of red.

From this angle, she could pretend that he was Fred. Imagine his bright laugh echoing through the flat as he chased her through for another go.

But he wasn't Fred; the identical features couldn't fool her. The man standing below had been riddled with nightmares far worse than any his twin had seen.

As his hand wearily brushed the wet hair out of his eyes, her heart quivered.

Seeing him torture himself like this endeared him to her in a way that making love into the night couldn't have. Because she knew that no mere feelings of lust could inspire such guilt. Whatever had transpired between them all this while was something more.

She knew it back on his birthday... the first one alone, when she had shocked him by smashing the entire cake onto his face, eliciting the first real chuckle from him all day. The whole family had joined in, throwing pieces of cake at each other, even Mrs. Weasley had been too encumbered by teary laughter to admonish them.

Promising to exact revenge, he had chased her out to the shed, before catching her easily with one arm. Her squirms when his hand drifted from her cheek to her arm, down to her hips had ceased.

_"Happy birthday," she whispered, tilting her head up._

His lips met hers in a sugary confection of vanilla and strawberry.

Silence and avoidance had ensued.

But when one of her teammates had started getting too frisky with her at a post-match celebration, George had subtly slipped him a Nosebleed nougat. Though he'd vehemently doing any such thing, mysterious things would happen to anyone who attempted to get close to her.

_"I've volunteered at the shop enough to recognize what happened to Marcus. Why can't you pick on someone else for a change?" Angelina yelled, waving her wand menacingly._

_"I would if you stopped dating such tossers," George muttered. _

_"They've all been perfectly nice!"_

_"No, they're not. Nice guys don't look at girls like this," George's blue eyes suddenly gained a fierce intensity, leaving a trail of violent perusal from her lips to her toes. Stepping inches away from her, his breath was warm on her face. _

_"Gentlemen don't touch ladies here," he whispered hoarsely, brushing the underside of her breast, before pressing a hot open-mouthed kiss on her bosom. _

_"George-"_

But he had leapt away from her, like she was a leper. It was another fifteen minutes, before she followed him, refusing to leave his flat.

It had been another two hours, filled with whispered caresses and impassioned kisses, before he left again. Now here she was, her forehead pressed against the rain-beaten window, staring down at him.

"Come back," she sighed.

Suddenly a bright hue of red lit up behind her reflection.

"George?" she turned, before her voice caught in her throat.

The man standing before her looked exactly like George, but the smirk touching the corner of his lips told her it was not him. The worry-free air to him could only be attributed to one other person.

"Fred."

She sank onto the floor shakily.

"Angelina," he chided, kneeling down in front of her. His entire form was glowing, or maybe it was just that effervescent grin that brightened up his face.

"Wha - you're not - a - "

"- A ghost? Nah, I definitely don't want to be stuck with Moaning Myrtle and the Bloody Baron for company," he chortled.

"Shut up. It's not funny!" she cried. His face instantly sobered.

"Why are you here? Did you-" When his fingers wiped away her tears, it was only then that she realized she was crying. "Oh Fred ... I'm -" she wrung her hands helplessly, aching to touch him, and aching to yell for George.

But the lines were blurring; he was fading.

"Goodbye Angelina."

Her dark head flew forward; she reached out desperately. There were so many things she had to say, but she couldn't speak. There were so many people who would want to see him, but so little time. Always so little time.

"Goodbye Angelina," he smiled.

"No ... no, you've just -" she strained to keep him here.

"_Goodbye_," he said softly again.

The word perforated her brain, resounding sepulchraly. He was trying to say something else, she could sense it. The way his gaze drifted down to his brother suggested he was trying to tell her something that she wasn't comprehending.

"It's time to say goodbye."

"What about George? You - tell him too," she pleaded. He smiled sadly at her.

"How can you tell someone that a part of them is leaving forever? We're one half of the same person. I don't need to say anything. He could always - "

"-Read your mind," she said, sobbing into her hands.

"Yes," he laughed, the sound echoing dully across the room.

There was a gust of wind, ruffling through her hair, before a whisper of farewell left her alone. He was gone. She couldn't understand ... he was so ingrained in her, her first love. Perhaps she hadn't known him as intimately as George had, but he was still a part of her.

Yet he bid _her_ goodbye.

Her, but not George.

Why?

Why?

A door slammed open, and George filled the way, looking wet and harried.

"I thought ..." he searched around the empty room before seeing her, red-eyed and hugging her knees.

There was a palpable tension now. Her toned muscles were scantily covered, peeking out of the edges of the sheets. His shirt was transparent and frayed. They stared at each other silently.

"Ange-"

"I love you."

His head jerked up, droplets spraying the floor. She rose up shakily before striding up to his frozen form. "I love you. I _want_ you."

"But what about-"

"George," she stopped him. Her hands framed his face, and she brushed her lips against his nose, his lips, his cheeks. "George."

She sighed his name not to remind herself, but to remind him. "_George_ ..." He loomed over her, his eyes boring into her in that odd quiet way. As she uttered his name again and again, the tension slowly left his body, giving way to ecstasy.

Maybe it was needy; maybe it was twisted. But this gave them something neither had felt in ages ... peace.

Closing her lids, she gave in to the shivers, picturing him and only him.

She understood now.

_Goodbye Fred. _


End file.
